A Few Different Stories

Redirect

2009-08-15T10:38:00.001+08:00

Consolidating, consolidating. Head here.

The Rendering - Ch. 1

2008-12-05T23:35:00.001+08:00

Chapter One

‘Hold it!’ the man dressed in the shady clothes with a hood over his head said.

The little boy turned around and when he saw him stood still. The shady man walked up to the little boy. ‘Do you want a candy?’ he asked. The boy shook his head profusely.

‘Then give me back my damn disc!’ he yelled. The scared child dumped the disc onto the ground and took off. The pissed off shady man with a hood over his head decided to give chase and easily caught hold of the kid.

‘Aaah! Let me go!!!’ the poor boy yelled. With an evil laugh the man threw him over the fence and into the river. The boy shrieked in shock at the freezing water and quickly waded over to the other side.

‘That will teach you!’ he yelled across to him. The little boy quickly got out and ran away crying.

‘I suppose you’re always like that with children.’ A man behind him said.

‘Kid got what he deserved’, he replied, turning to him and studying this stranger.

‘Well, are we going to conduct business?’ he asked the shady man.

‘I have a name, you know.’

‘Forgive me, Mr. Nidulus.’

‘It’s Naydulus you retard and don’t call me by my surname. Phoc will be fine.’

‘Very well Phoc. I think you have something that belongs to me.’

‘I didn’t get your name, either.’

The man sighed and said, ‘You’re better off not knowing.’

‘Oh really? I never knew mercenaries were so mysterious. In fact I found you off the network. How hard was that?’

‘It’s Jake.’

‘Jake…’

‘Jake.’

‘Why does that name sound so fami-’

Jake pulled out a gun and shot him in the head.

‘You were better off not knowing. Idiot.’

He wiped the pistol and put it into the late Phoc Naydulus’ hands.

‘Mr. G, you have a leak. Target knew I was after him. Out.’

Jake looked at the dead man one last time, shrugged and walked away to find dinner, whistling “Annie’s Song” and putting one hand in his pocket, the other on his hip.

***

‘The regular, Jake?’

He looked at the bartender, thought for awhile and shook his head.

‘I think I’ll have some warm water.’

‘Rough night, huh?’

He nodded in reply and looked at the latest news. “Man commits suicide in Ironfields”. Jake noticed the news services were losing their touch. ‘Fifteen minutes late…’ he said to himself.

‘Used to be five,’ a man said next to him.

Jake turned and looked.

‘You’re under arrest for the murder of Phoc Naydulus.’

Jake laughed and they shook hands.

‘How’s things?’ Jake asked.

‘Ah, could be better. Divorced again. Same old same old.’

‘Heh, you never change.’

‘I wish. So you got the disc?’

Jake handed him the disc the poor dead man managed to extract from the poor cold child.

‘Hmm…antique. But then again most good intel is stored like this.’

‘You telling me.’

‘Here…the warm water’s on me.’

‘Idiot.’

‘Which reminds me…’

The man took a sip and gave Jake a very serious look.

‘Are you up for a crazy job?’

‘I’m assuming it pays proportionally.’

The man nodded his head. Jake kept silent.

‘Anna Takop. Former Eastern European dictator, now in hiding.’

‘Termination?’

He shook his head.

‘No. Escort.’

‘And why me?’

‘You’re the right person. Low profile, high skill level. Deniability if this thing hits the fan.’

‘I suppose there’s a high possibility it will.’

‘No shit, Jakeass.’

‘Hmph.’

‘Three trillion. Immediately if you accept.’

‘Not bad. A decent retirement would await me.’

‘If you make it.

‘If.’

‘People will find out once she’s on the move. And a lot of them want her dead or alive.’

‘That Anna has quite the bounty on her, if I’m correct?’

‘Yes. The Ams are offering 900 bill, the Brits 500.’

‘Then I suppose there are others who would pay more.’

‘Not more than what you’re getting. You are just one man whom nobody knows. What makes you think those unofficial sources will shell out that amount for you?’

‘So why are you so willing to part with three trill?’

‘Me? Never. My superiors are.’

‘How nice. Fine, I’m in.’

‘Unfortunately for you. I’ll call you within 72 hours.’

With that he left.

Jake sipped his water and stared at an attractive woman leaning on a corner, but then realized she wasn’t a woman.

The Hare Who Looked At The Stars

2008-12-03T20:02:00.001+08:00

He walked past the meadow, into the woods. The birds told him to go there, although he was doubtful. The setting sun coloured the valley walls around him a bright red and he counted one, two, sixty waterfalls.

Why this place? He wondered.

A swallow flew past and told him to keep going. Walking on he deftly stepped past the broken branches and a few footsteps later, he supposed he reached the place. It was a small burrow in the ground, underneath a huge tree root. Dead leaves covered more than half the entrance and he wondered if he had come to the right place.

A little rabbit with dark grey fur peered out. Hello? He said hoping he was not disturbing it. Slowly the rabbit trudged out cautions yet curious.

You wanted to hear a story? The rabbit whispered. He nodded his head, bent down and looked into its eyes. I do not remember much; only what my ancestors told me, said the rabbit.

Go on.

His name no one knows. Perhaps he never had one. But we called him the Hare, for that was what he was. He lived here, in these woods and had many friends. A swallow, a fox, a squirrel even a frog.

Keeping silent he listened as the rabbit continued.

He was brave and went to many far away places and helped rid these woods of dangerous creatures. The rabbit paused as if to think. The listener took the opportunity to ponder its words.

Did you see a meadow as you came here? It asked. He nodded. There is a tree there, a single tree in a field of flowers.

Yes I saw it.

The hare would meet with is friends there and they would share stories with one another. That is…that is all I know.

He kept silent for awhile but then said I do not understand though why they say this Hare is so special.

The rabbit thought for awhile.

Once before the sun rose the Hare looked up into the dark sky, looked up at the stars. He said something we never understood.

What did he say?

Are they not beautiful?

Hearing that he laughed. Thank you dear rabbit. I understand now. With a smile on his face he stroked its soft fur, rose and walked away.

________________________________

If you frequent Logical Nonsense, you will know who the Hare is.

Animals imagine what it were like to be human

2008-04-18T14:37:00.001+08:00

Good morning, he thought. Sparrow was staring at him through the window, ignorant of his need for privacy. He, immodest, blushed then chuckled then said and waved hi. Getting out of bed was the easy part getting ready for work not since getting ready for work required more work which required more work.

Were mundane things worth noting? It depends; mundane descriptions of eating sleeping working shitting were priceless to the prying observer a thousand years in the future yet to us now they are redundant and useless. So the bus arrives early and he notes that happily but with a twinge of sadness knowing that that would not always be the case.

Sometimes, Dog weeps and for no good reason. There might be one, but unless he so inclines to tell us we can safely say we don't know. Tears on Dog are odd indeed, and while the rest of us puzzle only the poets and scientists try to find an answer. Both start from different points but almost inevitably reach the same conclusion.

Click click goes the mouse. The mouse mind you is not a real mouse but rather a plastic metallic electronic device made by its god who is man and it does its masters' bidding. Click click goes the mouse and its master the user strays from his usual routine at the cost of his company's productivity and instead drifts to sites where he can view his species copulate.

Sparrow and Dog wonder what the fuss is all about when he gets fired for click clicking and watching his species mate. Nothing special indeed.

At the same time, mouse silently and obediently does its masters' bidding. Being a fallen object, he may never sin but in the end he always returns to dust click clicking no more.

Cat licks her paws yawns and sleeps; one eye open at the children little children playing in the swimming pool. They frolic in the water and laugh for no apparent listen since at that age justification to perform such acts is not required. They laugh and are observed by their elders, who in turn observe magazines.

Ice creams under the sun survive for a short while, but ah what pleasure it gives to the person licking slurping biting it? Yum! It melts quickly but satisfies brilliantly- a metaphysical law indeed.

An old man sat on a bench under the tree. Cat stared at him and trod post. He looked at her and she at him. He speaks to it but the cat does not understand. He knows she does not but pretends she does.

The children too, frolicking and laughing pretend they are Jedis. Together humanity pretends so conclude Sparrow Dog and Cat who then rejoice that they are an honest kind; sinless beings who need not cover in shame their true nature but beings who die anyway under the curse.

But at least better than man.

The Acceptance of Advancement

2008-03-03T10:36:00.001+08:00

In a moment of randomness, our lecturer asked us to write a story about 666, Armageddon and how we're gonna get tracked by all sorts of devices (most probably a microchip). I thought that to write such a story would be nonsense and not worth my time (even if it's worth Tim Lahaye's). Hence, I wrote something just as corny, albeit more sensible.

__________________________

The Acceptance of Advancement

David was woken by the sound of his phone ringing. He thought he had turned it off. It was 3 am in the morning. It was work.

“Yeah…” he said in a daze.

“We have a situation.” The voice over the phone said.

It was unprecedented, but David somehow knew this would happen. It was 2 years since the implementation of RFID chips as an alternative method of cash transaction. The chip would usually be inserted into the left arm of the person. With it, money could be stored, along with the individual’s identity, passport numbers. It also functioned as a credit card.

The chips were connected by a global network. A bad choice, some said. But the security for the bio-wallet (as it was colloquially called) was impeccable; the only way to steal the money in it was to steal the chip itself.

But nobody said anything about completely erasing all the data held within it. And nobody knew how that happened.

David got into the car and slowly drove from the suburbs into the city, where he was called to. He scanned his arm, hoping for the impossible

“Nothing…” he muttered to himself. The scanner showed a zero balance. Thankfully, he had only about $60 in there. But most people won’t be so lucky.

Oricorp would never have existed without a $500 million capital boost from a VC consortium. This left many analysts baffled, considering that their idea was nothing new (an RFID cash transfer device). But that later revealed their plans to have it connected to a global network, via a special encrypted spectrum. It was considered to be almost impossible to hack because that would require the use of a nearly $100 million device. Altogether, there were twenty of such devices ever made, the size of a telecommunications tower. All of them were owned by Oricorp.

David parked his car at the sidewalk and made his way in. Already there were a group of reporters staking out at the entrance. A reporter who knew him immediately rushed to him and asked him some questions. David just shook his head and entered inside. He was, at the moment, entirely ignorant of the situation.

“Thanks for coming David.” Stella said and shook his hands. She was the head of the network security department. “It happened at around 2:24 a.m. today.” she said as she walked, David following her. She continued, “We’ve already totaled the balances of every single bio-wallet in the world.” “And?” David asked, knowing full well the answer. She shook her head. “Any suspects?”

“At the moment, we’re all thinking it’s internal.”

“No doubt.” Unless someone had found a way to build a $100 million dollar tower, then it was clear that one of Oricorp’s transmission devices were utilized in the hack.

“But I don’t understand,” David said, “why you need me here.”

Stella smiled. “We need you to co-ordinate with PR. You are our top shrink.”

“Technically, I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. But ah, I see why. Calm the panicked masses, yes?”

She nodded. “David, two and a half billion dollars have been erased overnight. While we can reimburse that sum, the damage to our organization will be irreparable if we cannot persuade our clients that this will not happen again.”

“Hmm…”

Just then they met up with a tall and burly man. “Hey Jim, this is David. David, Jim, head of our North America PR department.” Stella introduced them. They shook hands.

“We have four hours,” Jim said, “before America realizes her wallets have been stolen.”

Two months later

David sat down on the couch, and sighed. He now knew how it felt to be unemployed. But he wasn’t quite that surprised.

He had always suspected that people only took Oricorp’s new method of payment with a pinch of salt. But while they were enthusiastic to adopt the new technology (governments were all relieved from printing less paper bills), the Wipeout (as it was now called) had erased, along with their money, the people’s confidence. No assurance could change their minds. As quickly as they had their chips inserted, they were removed.

In other words, Oricorp’s fifteen year experiment came to a close in a most dramatic way possible: in total failure. David speculated that this probably meant the public was subconsciously never confident with Oricorp’s program to begin with. That was what doomed it, although the hackers might have helped.

He recalled a debate he had with a friend of his, who objected that the RFID scheme will result in diminished privacy. Governments and corporations could track what people spent, their identities and such.

“But,” David said, “you forget that privacy will always have to be surrendered in exchange for benefits. For example, you give down your personal details when you want to enter a contest. Of course, you might win a prize, but you are also exposing yourself to the person you give the form to. The question is whether surrendering a certain amount of your privacy will enable you to gain the benefits that the bio-wallet will provide.”

His friend thought for awhile. “True. But in the end, do we really need more and more advanced gadgets?”

“There’s no clear cut line to say that enough is enough. Computers have developed so far because no one said we have had enough of technology. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with advancement. It almost always has brought innumerable benefits.”

Someone piped in. “What about those who say that chips will be used by the Antichrist?” Everyone chuckled. “Yeah,” someone else said, “Oricorp is a front for the Devil’s schemes!”

“Well,” David thought now. “The Devil had a lousy scheme indeed.”

Moments, Unnoticed

2007-12-11T12:56:00.001+08:00

Must he cry, must she cry he wondered he wandered. It was no less an incident, no less an accident that we two must end up together and gaze on each other and cry. Weariness crept in oh so slowly and oh so subtly, that she still thought he loved her, not seeing what he felt, not feeling what he saw. It was there no longer, perhaps a little of it left, but not much. Not much.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

A big city, he thought. He was walking nonchalant self-absorbed indifferent ill at ease. Oh dear, oh my a lady said as he passed by. He turned to look at some spilt coffee; he laughed quietly. Brown liquid dripped from the table, hot liquid. Ow, ouch. Let me help you with that someone said and the waiter came flustered and cleaned it up.

He walked on, forge forward not looking back. Went into a bookstore, took out his wallet peered in it. A lot of money, he smiled. A lot of expendable money. What shall I buy? What shall he buy someone thought who saw him with the wallet and the expendable money.

Their silent meeting flickered through his head like a movie replayed over and over again muted. He could see it he could hear it but could not feel it; muted. He and she ah never again he thought never again.

Book, book any interesting books? Classics section Austen, nope been there read that. Non-fiction, biography boring more football players darn them. Popular science interesting physics evolution nice but nothing I can’t get elsewhere maybe something else leave that for next time.

“I felt tired, so I took a seat.”

“Ah, why else would you take a seat?”

“Maybe because I simply wanted to?”

“But why did you want to?”

“I just…wanted to.”

“But why?”

“Must there be a cause?”

“Must there not?”

Mmm. Good morning. Ah tired. Go back to sleep. It’s morning wake up brush teeth do work do work why because you have to. Oh…

“Morning…did I wake you?”

“Ah, nope. Anything?”

“Happy Birthday!”

Oh yes I forgot how could I gah my brain in the morning.

“Ah thank you, thank you, haha. Thanks for remembering.”

Hmm who else is going to wish me gosh have to smile say thank you repeat ad nauseum damn conventions gosh dang why we follow them. Hungry, did I buy any food oh yes cereals lovely.

Good morning he remembered that that was what she always said to him. Good morning he said to himself to compensate oh I miss her that was what he was trying to stop himself from thinking.

Computer on, email, check, something from someone. Interesting, haven’t heard in a while. Oh, her brother? What…

She’s dead.

Michelle

2007-08-24T16:52:00.001+08:00

The piece I wrote and presented at the Young Writers Camp '07, during the "Writer's Slam" session. No one was slammed, however. Disappointingly. Hehe.

_____________________

A breeze blew. Fluttered, went the leaves. Gazing at them, I paused...then reflected. With silent, disenchanted melancholy, I thought about how easy it is to lose yourself in the abyss that is your thoughts.

Hehehe. What rubbish that was, all in the name of showing off to others how "powderful" your "Engrish" is. I am, after all, not like Alvin* or Owen*. I do not use big words, as it can be telling of me- since the size of your words is proportional to that of your ego.

But what am I saying? I do not like to criticize people. However, for the purpose of my story, I'll be glad to make an exception.

The story begins on a cool, breezy night. Don't worry, no big words coming up. He stared into the sky, with nervousness. His hands were shaking. He had a date.

Something, no, someone caught his eye. Was it her? He grew even more nervous. He threw the date he had into his mouth and began to chew on it. It was sour, he nearly vomited, but he was glad.

His parents didn't let him have any dates, and he relished any chance of eating them.

Anyway. He spotted his girlfriend, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're late!" he said with joy. She looked confused. "I'm so happy you're late!" he said. "Huh?" she replied. "I was beginning to worry you were too...obedient. I need an unpredictable girlfriend!"

So, she dumped him.

But, thankfully, that's not what happened. They had a nice date together (a much sweeter one, not as sour) and then they parted ways.

I told you earlier that I was going to criticize someone, right? So let me tell you about the "he" I was referring to previously.

His name was Michelle (you know, French) and he was one of the most skillful debaters around. He specialized in insulting his opponents into submission, and skilled he was at that.

There was once he was asked what was his opponent's next move. He dryly remarked, "I don't really care, for his smartest movement is a bowel movement."

How conceited!

Well I'm sure you'd be glad to know that he died one day, after a date. His girlfriend announced that she was leaving him, and he died of a heart attack. After losing a debate.

So.

I hope that this story will cause you to reflect and think. And if you didn't understand it, you haven't thought hard enough.

__________________________________

* Alvin & Owen refer to two people present at the Writer's Camp who were known for their penchant of using big words. No offense intended. Really.

Hooligans: Earth Gone Crazy (Chapter One)

2007-08-24T16:39:00.001+08:00

I wrote this story when I was 13, and it certainly is still one of the best stories (personally speaking) I've written to date. I actually finished this series up, racking up 30,000 words (I think). Unfortunately I was not smart enough to back up my stuff, and I lost it all when my PC was reformatted.

Anyway, I am attempting to piece together the pieces, as well as add new things in the process. This is the very first chapter, of which I remember almost everything. Of course there are new additions (not to mention grammatical changes!), but the main plot of the story is still intact.

___________________________

A person jumped off a thirty story building. And then another. And another. And then hundreds of them came falling down like rain. All of them landed on the sidewalk with loud splats, though the thudding became softer each second as the sound was dampened by the ever increasing pile of corpses.

“New Guinness World Record!” a small boy yelled out. “Most people committing suicide in a single minute!” he continued.

I turned around when I heard loud laughter from behind me. People-hooligans, as they are called- were firing themselves from cannons into spray painted bulls-eyes on the wall. They hit it with a loud smack. I noticed that the walls were a thick red. And I shook my head at this mayhem.

“My child,” a voice that sounded croaky said from behind me. I turned around and I faced an old, hunched man holding a stick that looked like it belonged to his great grandfather. The stick was old. The old man was old. “What do you want, old man?” I said to him.

“It wasn’t always like this. You’re pure born, aints it?” the old man said to me.

“I’m not like them if that’s what you mean.” I replied. He didn’t look like he was pure born, though. “Who are you?” I asked him. The old man apparently didn’t heed my question. He continued, “Yes of course. These- these hooligans were created by someone. Things got out of control. They took control of the world.”

“Who created them?” I asked.

Although the old man was probably mad, I still couldn’t help but want to know what he had to say.

“A guy by the name of Paki Up Ump Papi Hup Huh Duh Da...”

“Stop blabbering!” I shouted at him and proceeded to slap his face.

“Hadladkap Musi, in short.” he said, apparently cutting to the chase. That’s more like it.

“They were a genetic experiment created by him when Hadladkap was just a small lil boy.” the old man said, drifting off into a long grandfather story. I sighed and sat down to listen to his mad ramblings.

About sixty or so years ago, Hadladkap unleashed his experiments into the world. The hooligans were virtually invincible. They were mad, though. And they wrecked the world- like a three year old would do to a kitchen. Or a housewife to her husband’s mistress’ belongings.

They thrashed space exploration when they crashed all of NASA’s shuttles. As for the Russians, they nuked them. Don’t ask me why how they took control of the nuclear missiles- I’m not very good when it comes to logic. Anyway, they destroyed human beings when they stole Hadladkap’s anti-fertility device. It released a shockwave throughout the entire world that rendered all males and females (they’re called humans, for your information) infertile. Meaning that they are not able to have cuddlies of their own.

Thus the humans were technically extinct. But wait- Hadladkap had another device up his sleeves. He wanted to be certain- epistemologically certain, mind you- that the only human left on this earth was himself. So he created the “Humanuke Em”. It releases a shockwave that kills all humans throughout the entire world. Hadladkap had to hide himself in a machine that protected him from his own weapon of mass extinction. It was called the “Hidey Hole”. Hadladkap accidentally set the device to put him into warp-stasis for sixty years instead of sixty seconds. Thus he is stuck there- but not for long. In a few days time he shall reawaken and regain control of his hooligans.

“What does he intend to do?” I asked, the moment the old man stopped to take a breath.

“Ah yes.” He replied. And then he continued his grandfather story.

“You see, my child: Hadladkap wanted himself to be the only rational being on Earth. That was his ultimate purpose. Not to listen to music from his iPod for the rest of his life or to chase after women, mind you, but to be the smartest person alive on earth. The only one.

But unbeknownst to him, there was a race of creatures that lived underwater- Ganguns, they are called. They were not discovered by him. And their technology and empire has grown throughout these six decades. I think that when Hadladkap awakes, he will definitely stumble upon them and destroy them. And that’s where you come in, my child.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You have to go to the Ganguns and warn them. They are the only ones who can contact the Jedeis, a race of warriors who are the most powerful in the universe. They- the Jedeis- are the only ones who can stop Hadladkap.”

I was indifferent. “Why don’t you go?” I said.

“Cants. Only pure borns can enter the gate of Gangun.”

“So you’re not pure born then. What are you?”

“I’m impure born! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAH--AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

His laughing turned into cries of agony as I took his walking stick from him and whacked it straight on his head. His face fell flat onto the hard tar.

“Aaaaah!” he cried in a muffled voice. Apparently, it was difficult for him to extract himself from the cement. I reached down, grabbed his bald head and pulled him out.

“Ah!” he said. “Much better. Thanks.” He rubbed his nose. It dropped off, and blood spurted out like a fountain from his nose, landing thirty feet away. “Aaaaah!” he cried, but then he quickly reached down to his nose and stuffed it back.

“There. Much better.” he said, as he pressed his nose again a few times to make sure it fit.

I was struck with a feeling of boredom. And suddenly, a brilliant and completely original idea hit me- I’m going to save the world!

“I’m going to save the world!” I said loudly to him. The old man smiled. “Ah yes, yes, save the world. But before you do that, you first need to find a certain Jack Sparrow.”

“Jack Sparrow? Who is he?”

“Beats mah friggin’ brains out.” the old man replied and shrugged.

I got angry and punched his face. But when my fist landed on the side of his face, it felt like I hit hard rock.

“Aaaah!” I groaned.

“Hehehehehe. I have the power of rock skin. Ahahahah!” he yelled at me like a mad man.

Suddenly, his head popped out his neck socket like a jack in the box.

“Oops!” his head said, before continuing, “what you are about to witness is rated NC-17!” and winked at me.

His arms started popping off, followed by gushes of blood. His legs then came off, and for the finale, his body exploded. Strangely enough, no chunks of flesh or blood could be seen. It was only the hard tar of the cement road.

“Weird.” I muttered to myself and walked forward.

It would be the first step of my great journey!

A Day Begins

2007-08-24T16:27:00.001+08:00

Sarah looked out the window, watching cars pass by. They slowed down as they approached a bump. Then they sped up again; sped away.

The day had passed from gloomy to sunny. She liked gloomy better, but knew not why. Come to think of it, she thought, she had always liked rain better than sunshine.

One of the symptoms of melancholia, so it seems. Untreatable, maybe. But certainly she was not one who will delight in it. There was another part of her that was a relentless optimist. And sunshine is its prime symbol.

As she pulled herself away from her gazing (she had other things to do), she recalled last night. It was a very boring one. Yet she still wanted it to continue.

Today was a day she did not want to dwell in. Yet it’s not like you can stop it. She fatalistically resigned. Yes, there was nothing you can do.

“Maybe…” Sarah whispered. Why did she say it? She did not herself know; maybe ”maybe” sounded nice. Perhaps it was suitable. Something made her say it.

What did? She did not know. Maybe she said it because it sounded nice. If so, then “niceness” made her say it. How dare it force her! She chuckled. I’ve got things to do.

What things? Homework. Lovely. Really. She sat down. Oh wait, I need to get my books. She got up, and took them. Then she sat down again.

Two hours later, Sarah was eating her lunch. She did not like lunch, yet she did not want it to end. No, the day must not continue. But continue it did.

Afternoon. The sun showed no remorse. She was untouchable, however. Sitting safely in her room. With the aircond. And the fan. No that’s cheating. Face the fact.

She got out of her house. She had to breathe. To calm down. The sun wasn’t nice. But she wished it would shine all day. Enough with wishing. It’s evening. I’ve got to take a bath.

What’s with bathing? She relished it. Run down the clock, run down the day. Yep. Waste your time on the conditioner. Yes, and where’s that useless apricot scrub? There it is. Lovely.

Time to go. Not for me. Mum says so. I got to go. Darn. Get out, get dressed. Who cares about what dress? No…this one is too fluffy. No, too tacky. Who gave this abomination to me? Did I buy it?

Time to go. Urgency forces Sarah’s choice. She puts on a dress, and she’s ready to go. No time to think about it. She must be ready.

Here we are! Have fun, and good luck! Mum says. I wish. Sarah stepped into the hall. She found brief solace in her friends, cheering her on. No, their cheers were useless. It was all up to her.

Onto the podium. In front of the people. Then, Sarah smiles. Yes, she’s a lovely woman. It would be a sin not to forgive her. But wait, there’s no need. She is wonderful. Excellent!

Sarah gets off the podium. They’re clapping. She beams not because of the claps. I’ve done well, Sarah thought. The day ends. It is inevitable.

The Paper Lighthouse

2007-08-24T16:26:00.001+08:00

Some commentary is required. This story is part nonsense story and part slight satire on some issues in my country (Malaysia). Unless you are familiar with them, you probably will not notice the parallels I draw. (E.g. Aryans, 15% discount, Kutadships). Anyway, enjoy!

___________________________________
Prince Democracy (yes, that is his name) was quite intrigued when he heard about the Paper Lighthouse.

“And so,” Mr. Fairytale said, “this is the story of the Paper Lighthouse.”

“Intriguing indeed. Very intriguing.” Democracy said to himself the moment Mr. Fairytale ended.

“So. Where is my cash?” Mr. Fairytale asked.

“How dare you show such contempt to me!” raged Prince Democracy. “Off with his head!”

Thus, Mr. Fairytale’s existence came to an abrupt end.

***

Across the ocean, the very same tale of the Paper Lighthouse came to the ears of King Communism. The Messenger (so was the name of the person who brought the tale to King Communism) intrigued the King with “an amazingly intriguing story” (so was the King‘s words).

“So,” said the Messenger. “Where’s my cash?”

King Communism nodded and clapped his hands. A briefcase filled with 3 dollar bills amounting to 3 billion dollars was handed to the Messenger.

***

At this moment, I suppose you must be thinking this: “What in the world is the amazingly intriguing story of the Paper Lighthouse?”

Well, I thought you would think so. So, here it is.

(A long, long time ago)

There was a man who had a simple name- Constructor. Constructor wanted to build something, but did not know what to build. So, he asked a guy with the complicated name of Architect to help. Architect drew up some plans and gave it to Constructor.

During those days, unlike now, one needed to ask permission from the local council office if one wanted to build a building.

Also, during those days (unlike now) the local council office was much more rude and unreliable. Thus, they required three conditions to be fulfilled by Constructor.

These three conditions were as follows:

1. All Aryans must be allowed 15% discount if they wish to purchase the building. Failure to comply will result in a personal visit from (or to) King A.H.

(Okay, I can live with that.)

2. A cafeteria MUST be built. The food served must be nutritious, healthy, low in fat and must follow the food pyramid.

(Uh...sure.)

But the last and the most hardest condition were as follows:

3. No cement, brick, mortar or steel can be used during construction, as they are not kosher.

(Hmm. This is going to be difficult.)

You might think you know where this is headed:

“And so Constructor decided to use paper and managed to build his lighthouse and lived happily ever after.”

But you thought wrong. I am not known for my predictability. Mysterious, shocking revelations are on the way, but yet to come. In fact, they might never come.

Anyway, Constructor was in a fix. He needed help. So, he went to a good friend who was called Karl.

“Hullo mate!” Karl greeted him, speaking in the Marxist accent. “What can I do for ya ?”

Constructor handed him the piece of paper in which the three conditions were listed.

“Read number three. I’m having trouble there.” Constructor said.

“Ah yes. That stumps me too. But I think I know someone who can help.”

“Who might that be?”

“Two people, actually. They might be both of help.” Karl wrote down their names and addresses and handed it to Constructor.

Constructor thanked Karl and was on his way. First stop was a man by the name of Stupid Idiot.

“Hello Stupid Idiot.” Constructor said.

“Hi! How may I help you?” Stupid Idiot replied.

Constructor told him about his predicament. Stupid Idiot looked contemplative. After a few minutes of deep thought, Stupid Idiot said:

“There’s not much I’ve come up with. But you’re building a light house, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you might try using paper. It is quite a sturdy material that can hold up against fire and water quite well. In fact, it's quite impervious to any wear and tear.”

“I’ve never heard of it before. Where might I get it?”

“That I do not know. Sorry, my child.”

“No problem. Thanks for your help Stupid Idiot.”

“What did you just say?”

“Uh...thanks a lot.”

“No, you called me a stupid idiot!”

“But you are!”

“No I am not! I am a smart intelligent person you unappreciative jar of lard!”

Constructor ran away as fast as his feet could take him, with Stupid Idiot running after him shouting curses. Thankfully, Constructor managed to get away. His next and final stop was a man named Bob.

“Hi!” Constructor said. He was happy as he saw some common ground- Bob was a builder.

“Hey! You’re Constructor right?” Bob said.

“Yeah. You’ve got some nice equipment here.”

“Thanks. So ...what brings you to my humble shop?”

“Paper, actually. I was wondering whether you have any of it or know where to get it.”

“In fact I do. Just arrived yesterday. I don’t see the use of it, though. You can have it if you want them for cheap.”

“Thanks.”

And so Constructor managed to obtain the material he needed to build his lighthouse. He immediately set to work, using illegal immigrants with expired work permits. Strangely enough, they were not ruled out in the three conditions set forth by the city council.

(Probably because the workers were Aryans.)

It took exactly 444 days for the Paper Lighthouse to be completed.

(Probably why no Chinese were among the illegal workers.)

At exactly 445 days, the Paper Lighthouse was officially opened to the public. The local city council praised Constructor for complying magnificently with their conditions. In reward, they awarded him a Kutadship.

On one very rainy night, a lightning struck the lighthouse. It was immediately set ablaze. The local fire crew came by to try to extinguish the flame. They endured the icy cold winds and the freezing rain to put out the fire with their hoses. It was only in the morning, when the rain stopped, that they managed to put out the fire. In reward, the fireman were awarded Kutadships.

But something caught the eyes of the firemen and made Constructor faint. It was revealed that the Paper Lighthouse was just an ordinary lighthouse after all- made with all the un-Kosher stuff that were banned in the Three Conditions.

Constructor had merely used the paper as a covering!

In the end, Constructor had his Kutadship revoked, and was jailed in disgrace.

***

Was that intriguing? I’m sure it was.

So...

Where’s my cash?

A Silent Meditation, On Love- Chapter I

2007-05-27T21:02:00.001+08:00

She figured that since the clouds were rather gloomy, it would be better not to hang the clothes at all. It was an excuse, actually. She drifted back to her room.

It was going to rain anyway.

Sitting back on her chair, she resumed her online conversation. Much was discussed. Halfway typing, while she was about to press the “E” key, a thought struck her.

One wonders why we take delight in trivialities. Enter.

Her friend replied with an emoticon scratching its head.

She smiled. “That was random,” she chuckled. Hmm…trivialities.

***

“Don’t worry.” He reassured his friend. Bad times, after all, are followed by good times. It only rains for so long.

An apt metaphor, rather, considering the heavy rain outside.

Just get another girl, was his point.

His friend got his meaning, and nodded. “But she meant a lot to me,” he said.

Yeah. Breaking up is tough. Especially when that someone happens to mean a lot to you. He mused silently. Then again, my cat meant a lot to me. I think. And it ran away, nonetheless. I think she didn’t give a damn about me.

“You know,” his friend added, “it always felt like we were meant for each other.”

He sighed. There were only so much of jilted boyfriend clichés he could take.

“Hmm…” he thought.

“He subscribes to the metaphysical soul connection theory.”

Fanciful. But weren’t feelings just your brain juices flowing about? How does that make things meaningful to you? How does it suddenly make you or someone else special?

One of the comments when he wrote all his thoughts on his blog: “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.”

True, true. But relationships based on...emotions? Or perhaps some illusions are necessary. Either way, his thoughts could be paraphrased thus: Hmm…absurdities.

The Camp by the Lake

2007-02-09T19:11:00.001+08:00

"Ahem". It was what the Captain usually did. It wasn't much, but certainly it was enough to gain the attention of the troop- mostly consisting of young teenagers and older children (to crudely categorize them), who were very much uncomfortable.

The scorching sun, of course. Mercilessly baking their bare backs. And no, sunblock was not available. Not that it would ease their suffering at all.

"Can we go?" said Sarah, in a very pleading, very urgent, tone. Those who heard her nodded in agreement. The torture was apparent- they were right next to the cool, blue lake. Its waters inviting them. Mercilessly, again.

The only thing between them and the lake was the Captain, who could not be blamed for suspecting imminent mutiny.

So he decided to appease them. "You may swim in the lake." he said, with an air of defeat.

Nobody bothered to say anything to the Captain, nor to express their relief. The only sounds there were? Exclamations of sheer delight (and splashes, of course) as the boys girls jumped into the lake. Where they belonged.

"Ah...water never felt this good!" said Rick, who very much really didn't care how obviously obvious his statement was. He floated blissfully in the water.

***

Mona was laughing. "Hahaha! Didn't go well eh, Captain?" she teased. "Ugh. Never try to call an assembly on a scorching day." replied Adam, the Captain.

"Duh! But yeah...it is an unusually hot day." Mona said. Adam took threw himself onto a hammock, and wondered why he didn't join the children instead. But then, the breeze did offer him a small consolation. Thankfully.

"What's next?" asked Adam. "Well...uh..." Mona flipped through her notebook. "Ah yes, arts craft in the afternoon."

Adam groaned. "We'll still to sort them into their groups."

Mona chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm sure they'll be much more...compliant after their swim." Adam shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"Yeah, trust me. I'll get Jane to help out." Mona assured Adam, and rushed of.

***

"You know," Quentin said in a hushed voice to Flora, "I wonder why we ever go to such places like this."

Flora gave him a puzzled look, but then she caught on.

"Yeah," she said as she pondered over which colored pencil to use. "Well, there's friends."

"Maybe, yeah, but still, besides friends. What's the point?" And Flora thought for awhile.

"Hey, hey, keep it down. Others are trying to concentrate." Jane said, and put a finger to her lips. Quentin and Flora nodded. They would continue their conversation later. The rest were drawing or coloring their dream houses, or trying to make them. Regardless, it was a rather messy session.

***

Mona, Jane and David took advantage of the weather to tan themselves awhile. Adam, on the other hand, was patiently overseeing the campers, ensuring everyone had their shower.

"Poor Adam." Jane said. David chuckled, and Mona smiled. "Don't worry. He can handle them." Mona reassured them. "Well," David added, "it's our last camp. Adam won't need to be doing this anymore."

"Yeah...kind of sad." Jane said.

"Uh huh." sighed Mona.

These camps were fast becoming...obsolete. People nowadays, well, there were too busy. Or maybe too tied up with city life. The four camp supervisors knew that. Which was why they ensured everyone had a good time. And maybe, they would win some lifetime converts.

***

Quentin lay in his soft bed, blanketed nicely. The sound of insects filled the night. It was hardly a silent one. He whispered to Flora, but everyone else could hear him too.

"Flora!"

"What?"

"I think I know why we go here every year."

"Yeah?"

"Because this place...is different. We're free here. Completely free."

And everyone agreed heartily, and had a long conversation before they feel asleep. In a few days from now, they would go back home, back to routines.

But they would know, this place will always, somehow, be special.

Swings

2007-02-09T12:35:00.000+08:00

Silent, was her stare. It conveyed little…no…no emotion. He wondered why. He looked into her eyes, and smiled. She didn’t smile back. He looked away. She turned away.

“What was her name?” Jason’s friend asked him. He shrugged in reply. “Just a woman who was…looking at me.” Jason added, a moment later.

“Why?”

Jason pondered awhile, before he replied, “Dunno.”

He fiddled at his food with his fork.

“I’ll go first.” His friend said, and got up. Jason nodded. He thought hard. He remembered her from somewhere. A familiar face.

Their eyes met. She was 9, he was 16. Both, side by side, on a swing. She giggled.

“What?” Jason asked.

“You’re too old for this sort of thing!” she said, matter-of-factly, in a tone that resembled a delightful squeal. Jason laughed. “Says who?”

“Says me!”

He smiled. “I’ve always liked the swing. Helps me think.”

“Oh?” said she.

“Yeah.”

He saw her there everyday, but he never bothered to ask for her name. She didn’t either. He always watched her play…first the slide, then the seesaw. He heard her laughs of delight, and he smiled. And then, they looked at each other, exchanging thoughts, ideas. Side by side, on the swings.

Her hair was in his face. Soft. Ticklish. He stroked her tenderly. He smelled her hair.

She lay in his arms, both of them looking at the sky, the grass on their backs.

“How’s life?” he whispered into her ear.

“Hmm. The same.” She replied.

“And with me around?” he asked.

She softly kissed him. “Different.” She whispered in reply.

Jason grew up. She grew up. They went their separate ways. They never knew each other’s names.

It was she, who he saw, staring at him with a silent stare. She knew who she was, and he knew her. Somehow, Jason knew she wanted to say something, to show something. But she hid her feelings too well.

They were lovers once, in a distant past. The memory is far off, but clear.

He walked up to her. She was arranging books on the shelves, oblivious to him.

“What was your name?” he asked her.

She turned around. Their eyes met.

“Michelle.” She said.

“I’m Jason.” And he smiled at her.

She smiled.

“Do you remember the swings?” he asked her.

She nodded.